


keep the darkest days away

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coda, Developing Relationship, Episode Related, F/M, Friendship/Love, Late Night Phone Calls, M/M, Post-Finale AU, Pre-Slash, Reference To Past Episodes, S03E16 - No Way Out, Spoilers, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The words as he remembers them, and he remembers them well, seem suspended in air. It was a silent dialogue: concealed questions and even more concealed answers hidden behind Jessica Pearson and Edward Darby, lawyers and investment bankers, and Rachel Zane and Dana Scott.</p><p>It's how they work; they never say what they actually mean, until they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. some way through this

**Author's Note:**

> The Marvey fangirl inside me just had to write something about the latest episode. It's short and has a lot of introspective Mike thinking about what happened in the last two minutes or so of the episode. Hopefully I'm not the only one who craved a little Mike/Harvey after it.
> 
> First chapter is not beta-read and was written in a bit of a rush. 
> 
> Enjoy! Feedback is appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> _PS.: This wasn't supposed to be a big deal, but it's turning into a series of Marvey moments as we go into Mike's life away from Harvey and its repercussions. Not following canon from the finale and on._

Above everyone else, he meant Rachel when he told Harvey that he was tired of putting the people he cared about in jeopardy. The moment those words came out of his mouth, her smile was the first thing that came to his mind. To a lesser extent, he meant Jessica and Donna, and then Harvey somewhere in-between.

Harvey sat there, saying something with his eyes that Mike couldn’t understand, as if what Mike had just told him was slowly sinking in, and then he blinked. He punctuated Mike’s words with it, and Mike had to look away, had to take in a breath or he wouldn’t be able to tell Harvey that he wanted to leave.

Something snapped in the air, like white noise and a deafening silence muddled into one, and Harvey knew before Mike said it. Harvey knew that, if not for himself, Mike had to do it for the people in his life. He knew, but he didn’t object, not exactly and not yet. Mike was grateful for that.

They looked up in synchronicity, like an ill-timed dance, and Mike realized, at that moment, that Harvey was losing his second battle that night: the first one to Scottie, Donna, or even Jessica, and now to Mike. 

“I took the job,” Mike said. 

It felt too much like twisting the knife a little further.

Harvey tensed up, although both he and Mike knew that he’d seen it coming, and gave half a shake of his head. He tried to argue without much force in his voice, his eyes lit up with a flame that was slowly burning out. Mike said Harvey’s name to ground himself, but with the knowledge that it would ground Harvey just as much. He asked for permission. 

Harvey stood. Mike didn’t know what to expect, but he waited. Harvey opened his mouth; nothing came out. Mike stared at Harvey, and then at Harvey’s hand when he offered it, dwelling on whether or not that was enough for him. Time stood still until Mike decided that, yes, it was, and clasped Harvey’s hand in his.

“You’re a good man, Harvey.” 

Harvey gave out a faint smile, as if the compliment were nothing more than a consolation prize, and shook Mike’s hand one last time before thanking him. Mike’s stomach dropped, but he picked it up as soon as it fell to the ground, clearing his throat, and Harvey forced him to look away. 

Mike picked up his bag as Harvey circled his soon-to-be vacant working space, thinking—hell, _hoping_ —that was it, but Harvey stopped. His voice was stronger than Mike’s as he asked, “Hey, when is your last day?” and Mike answered, “I don’t know, why?”

Harvey opened his arms with a light shrug and invited Mike out to dinner as if they did it every night. They didn’t, but for some reason it felt like they did; it felt like something they _could_ do, because Mike wasn’t exactly leaving, and Mike said as much without actually saying it. He knew, and Harvey knew, that he’d be there in Rachel’s—in _Harvey’s_ —thought, that he’d be there with as little as a phone call, but neither of them needed to say it. Knowing was enough.

They walked together to the elevator. They bantered; they played it off as a joke, but now, thinking back to it, Mike can’t really see the humor. The words as he remembers them, and he remembers them well, seem suspended in air. It was a silent dialogue: concealed questions and even more concealed answers hidden behind Jessica Pearson and Edward Darby, lawyers and investment bankers, and Rachel Zane and Dana Scott. 

Now, right now, with Harvey standing by the car, an open door as an invitation, and Mike searching for words, it doesn’t seem like hiding anymore. Harvey raises his eyebrows, giving a curt nod toward the car.

“Since you’re not leaving, _boss_ ,” he says, stresses the word, and Mike has to convince himself that Harvey really did say it. “What about dinner, right now? My place.”

Mike’s hands loosen around the strap of his messenger bag and he smiles, shakes his head. Harvey seems to take it as a no for a moment, but Mike simply rolls his eyes and gets into the car, scooting over to the farther end. The sound of Harvey’s laugh is intoxicating.

Mike might be leaving Pearson-Specter behind him, but he won’t _leave_. 

Not Harvey. 

He can’t.


	2. louder than words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist. Mike and Harvey have too much going on not to give them closure. (And I realize this isn't exactly closure, but there will be... Maybe.)
> 
> This is set right after the first chapter/season finale. Just a little thing to help us cope until June comes.
> 
> Enjoy. :-)

Mike wasn’t sure what to expect when Harvey put the offer on the table. He was even less sure the moment he got into the car, but it wasn’t like he _didn’t_ have the slightest idea of how it felt to be in Harvey’s condo late at night with a few iotas of alcohol running through his system, because he did. 

This, sitting in Harvey’s couch, drinking Harvey’s whiskey with both their suit jackets thrown over a couch, loosened ties, and first buttons popped open—this is different. This isn’t about getting hammered with a bunch of asshole stock traders and coming over to Harvey’s for the first time to hand him some freshly-memorized trades. This isn’t about the job, this is about _them_.

“Remember that time I got shitfaced and you slammed the door in my face?” Mike muses aloud, gesturing with the glass in his hand. The amber liquid swirls against the sides and almost spills over. 

Mike places it back onto the coffee table when Harvey’s glare warns him that, if it does spill over, Mike will be paying for any damages caused to the carpet or furniture. Harvey provides a concise, but pleased smile at Mike’s apologetic shrug and takes a sip of his own drink. 

“The Morello case?”

Mike knows it’s a rhetorical question, but he’s kind of proud of that case, because he was _right_ and showed Harvey that, and so he echoes Harvey’s words, nodding, “The Morello case.”

“That turned into the Gabby Stone case,” Harvey offers.

Mike tries to contain the surprise in his voice as he says, pointing a finger at Harvey, “You remember that.”

“Of course I remember that.”

“Yeah, because I was _right_ ,” Mike singsongs the last word, and then makes a popping sound with his mouth.

Harvey shakes his head at Mike’s self-assuredness, leaning back against the couch opposite Mike. A lazy smirk spreads itself across Harvey’s lips, as if he were recollecting a fond memory, and Mike straightens his back, shifting in his seat.

He’s still not sure what to expect, but he took a chance. He took a chance when he accepted Harvey’s dinner offer and hopped into the car with only a small acknowledgment toward Ray and a smile to Harvey. He took a chance when Harvey’s elbow bumped into his in every other sharp turn and glances, but not one word, were exchanged. 

He took it, and he’ll continue to. For Harvey. Lawyer or not.

“Mike?”

Mike wets his lips as he snaps out of his reverie, eyeing the space between the Thai food sitting on the table and Harvey. He picks his gaze up toward Harvey and opens his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a loud ring. Harvey lifts a finger at him and reaches over to grab his phone.

“Dude, what happened to never taking a call in front of a client?” Mike whisper-shouts, opening his arms in mock indignation.

“You’re not a—” Harvey starts to protest as he takes the call, pressing the phone against his chest, but then shuts his mouth, rolling his eyes. He gestures with a hand between him and Mike. “This isn’t a business meeting.”

Mike raises his eyebrows. “It isn’t?”

“It isn’t,” Harvey tells him, much like an ultimatum, and then goes back to the call.

Mike silently watches as Harvey turns his back to him, strolling toward the floor-to-ceiling window with a hand in his pocket. Mike’s almost sure he can see the color drain from Harvey’s face as Harvey takes a quick glance over his shoulder, in Mike’s direction. Their gazes lock for a second before Harvey’s back to looking outside as if it had never happened in the first place, which has Mike wondering who exactly is on the other end of that line. 

It goes on for a few minutes like this: Harvey whispering into his phone and Mike watching him from the couch, until the muscles on Mike’s back start acting up about the strain he’s putting on them and he scrambles to his feet, making his way to Harvey’s fridge to occupy the time. He pokes his head inside, eyes scanning over light yoghurt and turkey sandwiches that really shouldn’t have a place in Harvey’s fridge—unless they’re not _Harvey’s_ —until he picks up a bottle of water.

“I thought I’d told you never to call me ‘dude’.”

Mike almost chokes on it as Harvey’s breath ghosts over his neck. He turns around, trying to regain his breath, but Harvey has already crossed over to the other side of the room.

“You did,” says Mike, followed by a cough. He closes the fridge with a foot and earns a glare from Harvey, who settles on the couch again. Against his better judgment, Mike asks, “By the way, who was that? On the phone.”

Harvey gives him a look when Mike takes a seat, this time next to him, as if contemplating an answer. Mike raises his eyebrows, screwing the cap back on the bottle, and waits. Harvey chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, doing that weird thing with his mouth that makes Mike cast his eyes away.

“That was Scottie,” Harvey tells him. Mike nods, gaze fixed on the couch opposite them, where Harvey had been. “I told her I loved her.”

Harvey did what?

Mike’s brain takes a moment to process the information, but when it does, he can only bring himself to gape. Swallowing, he narrows his eyes at Harvey, bringing his hands together across his lap.

“You told—” 

“I implied it,” Harvey amends, but his tone doesn’t sit right with Mike. “It was clear enough.”

Mike nods, once, trying to come up with something. Harvey shifts in his seat, reaching out to grab his drink from the coffee table. Mike watches the motion with deliberation; the glass is left with an oily imprint of Harvey’s fingers when Harvey puts it back down.

“Alright, so,” Mike starts, licking his lips. “You _implied_ that you loved her, which means that you hid behind some stupid speech while at the same time making her feel guilty for even wanting to hear those words out of your mouth in the first place.”

“That’s an incredibly long sentence, Mike.”

Mike ignores him, “You’re so full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what you do, Harvey.” Mike shakes his head. “You don’t admit to caring about people, and you make—” _me_ “—them feel like they don’t have to right to want you to care about them.”

Harvey’s eyebrows stitch together, which Mike knows isn’t the best reaction, but he presses on, “That’s what you’ve been doing to me ever since we met.”

They fall into silence. Mike has the impression he can still hear the echo of his own voice ricochet against that ridiculously high ceiling. He rises from his seat, shoving his fists inside his pockets, and Harvey’s poker face is gone as fast as it surfaced. Mike releases a long sigh and rubs at his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I should probably—”

“No,” Harvey says. Mike turns to look at him. “You’re right. That’s what I do, Mike, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of keeping things from the people I love.”

Mike gives Harvey a smile that he knows seems defeated, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s not angry at Harvey; he’s tired. He’s tired of lying, of pretending to be something he’s not, of pretending not to feel the way he feels. 

“I also told her about you.”

Now, _that_ is something Mike was definitely not expecting, but he can’t blame Harvey. They’ve both had a long and scarring day. They’ve both said things they didn’t want to the people they love. They’ve both lost battles.

“I’ve already lost one person tonight, Mike.”

Mike nods, watching as Harvey’s shoulders relax at the gesture. He grabs his suit jacket without a word—from him or from Harvey—and he knows that this has nothing to do with Harvey telling Scottie his feelings or Mike’s secret; Harvey does as well.

For once, this is about them. It _can_ be about them, no one else.

Still, it doesn’t change the fact that Mike has someone to go home to. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s too late to stop hiding behind something that _isn’t_ them. They are both in over their heads; have been for as long as he can remember.

“You won’t lose another one,” Mike says, shrugging his suit back on.

That’s a promise he can make for the both of them. And he won’t break it.


	3. against the tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ~~b~~ romance continues. I really should be doing other things _*cough* like writing other, unfinished fics *cough*_ , but the writers are killing me with the amount of Harvey being adorable to Mike.
> 
> This'll probably have a hundred chapters by the end of this season. I'm not even kidding. Oh, man. Marvey goldmine!
> 
> Unbeta'd all around, but I think it's good to go. Any feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy! :-)

Mike finds it hard not to break his promise to Harvey, but he manages for the first week. They talk on the phone during the day, in-between their respective meetings, or send a text or two before leaving the office to go home, and it’s enough.

After that week, however, Mike’s social life seems to fly into a vortex and to another dimension. It’s not that he doesn’t want to reach out to Harvey, but he can barely find time to have a conversation longer than five minutes with Rachel, let alone anyone else. That is, except Donna, but that is a whole other story. 

Donna is like a cyclone met an erupting volcano and Mike doesn’t have the courage, nor the willpower, to fight it. And he doesn’t. She’s at the most inconvenient places at the most inconvenient times and Mike honestly has no idea how she can get away with that, but she does, and she makes sure to tell Mike the reason when Mike asks.

“Mike,” Donna says, arching that one sharp eyebrow. Mike feels like a toddler with the way she’s looking at him. He slumps against the car seat. “Harvey loves me. I have privileges.”

Mike nods and echoes her, taking the coffee when she offers him, “Privileges.”

Donna hums in agreement and takes a sip of her own. Mike scoffs at her, which earns him a very high heel to the shin, and asks Sidwell’s driver to pull over at Pearson-Specter before dropping Mike off at his meeting.

“You know,” Donna tells him as she slides out of her seat and onto the sidewalk, “I’m not the _only_ one he loves.”

Mike’s response is met with a closed door. Not that he even had a constructive response to begin with, which he figures Donna knew, because Donna always knows, but he would’ve liked to have at least tried to come up with something more substantial than, “Yeah, right.”

The rest of the day runs smoothly for Mike. Busy, but without any unexpected bumps in the road, and he comes home a little earlier than usual, hoping to find Rachel sipping wine at the kitchen, wearing nothing but one of Mike’s rumpled shirts. He does find evidence that there was some wine-sipping happening a while ago, except the half-empty glass is sitting at the nightstand by Rachel’s head as Rachel breathes softly into Mike’s pillow.

Mike smiles past his frustration and brushes a strand of hair out of Rachel’s face so he can press his lips to it. He stays there for a moment, his mouth firm against her cheek as he breathes in her scent. She mumbles something in her sleep, rolling over to her side of the bed and forcing Mike to pull away.

He rubs at his face, letting his exhaustion settle in further. He didn’t expect investment banking to be this tiring, and he can’t help but think that maybe he’s losing parts of his life to it. Important parts; like Rachel, and Harvey, and Donna, and re-watching old movies he likes, and cooking spaghetti while having a beer.

Those are all important aspects of him, and he’s losing them. He’s as much a fraud as he was while being Harvey’s associate, but on a more personal level. Mike wants to, _needs_ to, change that.

Giving Rachel another kiss, he takes the glass of wine from the nightstand and finishes it in one gulp. He loses his jacket and pulls at his tie before fishing his phone out of his pocket and dialing Harvey’s number.

Harvey picks up on the second ring, but isn’t given a chance to say anything before Mike speaks into the phone, “You love me.”

There’s silence on Harvey’s end, and Mike is afraid that the joke is lost for a moment, but then Harvey breathes out an annoyed sigh and Mike knows that he gets it. Still, silence stretches between them a while longer.

“Donna isn’t getting her Christmas bonus this year,” Harvey says, almost as an afterthought, like he didn’t mean for Mike to hear it.

Mike frowns. “Donna gets a Christmas bonus? I never got a Christmas bonus.”

It sounds like a laugh escapes Harvey’s chest, but Mike isn’t sure. Coming from Harvey, it might as well have been a groan.

“That’s because you were too busy fraternizing with your boss,” Harvey tells him, and Mike is affronted for a moment before the thought sinks in.

“Does that mean you were too busy fraternizing with your associate? You sly dog.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Mike snorts into the phone. “Of course not. Harvey, it takes two to tango.”

Harvey, like the good lawyer he is, makes a detour, “And what’s this I hear about you fraternizing with my secretary in the middle of the day?”

“You know, I think Donna loves me too,” Mike tells him, smugly. “She can’t seem to get enough.”

Harvey hums an offhand response. Mike hears glass hitting marble, and then the distinctive sound Harvey makes when he’s enjoying a pint of single malt.

“The way I see it,” Harvey says after a beat, “ _I_ don’t seem to get enough.”

“Harvey, can’t you use your words like a normal human being? You miss me, just say it. ‘I miss you, Mike’,” Mike says in a high-pitched voice, mocking. “It’s not that hard.”

It’s just a jab at Harvey; Mike isn’t expecting anything but an irritated, “Goodnight, Mike,” in return, because that’s how Harvey rolls. That’s how _they_ roll.

“I miss you, Mike.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he glares at the empty glass in his hand and hopes it’ll give him some insight into the situation. He’s only somewhat disappointed when it doesn’t and Harvey’s words hang in the air for a moment longer. Mike puts his glass down and hears Harvey do the same, waiting for his wonderful brain to think of something, anything, that won’t make him sound like an idiot.

“I know,” is the best he can come up with. He glances down at his lap, where his free hand is absentmindedly rubbing his thigh, and nods, smiles. “Good night, Harvey.”

“Good night, Mike,” Harvey says, and it’s only _slightly_ irritated. 

Mike’s okay with that.


	4. cross the line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, peeps! It's been a while. 
> 
> This one is a bit shorter than the others, but it's definitely set things in motion in my mind. My muse is partly back—yay! I'm not a hundred percent sure what is going to happen in this, but I plan on catching up with the show (somewhat). I just have a bunch of ideas without a real direction; I need to organize myself and then we'll see.
> 
> This is unbeta'd all around, so there might be some mistakes.
> 
> Please enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Mike continues to see more of Donna than Harvey—or Rachel, for that matter—and it isn’t hard to fall into some kind of routine. 

He comes home to a silent apartment more than once in the following weeks. Sometimes, Rachel has already draped herself across Mike’s side of the bed, arms outstretched and hugging the spot where Mike would be if came home at a reasonable hour. Other times, it’s Mike who dozes off with that annoying buzzing in his ears, wishing Rachel would be there instead of a pillow that smells faintly like her.

Falling asleep and waking up with an empty spot next to him becomes a reality he wishes he couldn’t get used to, but he does. There are small traces of Rachel that he tries to hang on to, tries not to forget because, if he does, he’ll lose himself and he’ll lose her.

Weekdays are long and uninspiring, with a few splashes of Donna in-between paperwork and meetings, which allows Mike to have a piece of Rachel—and Harvey—back. The fact that it always accompanies a hot cup of coffee is nothing Mike’s willing to complain about; the fact that Donna accuses him of gaining a couple of pounds worth of takeout, on the other hand, has Mike wanting to sue her for slander—except it is true.

Mike has a feeling she notices the darkness around his eyes as well—or the tightness on his shoulders, or the crookedness of his tie, or the dirty spot on the left foot of his best pair of shoes, or everything that he’s seen in the mirror and some things that he’s probably missed—but she doesn’t outright say it. 

She does, later on, comment on the tie in a text carrying an attachment: _How to Tie Your Tie Perfectly in 5 Easy Steps—with Pictures_. Mike has to put his paperwork aside for a moment and just stare at the series of pictures. The model is, without question, Donna, but that shirt and tie, Mike acknowledges with a grin, are definitely Harvey’s.

His grin becomes a light chuckle and grows into a full-on fit, bouncing off the glass walls and filling the empty office as tears sting Mike’s eyes. He brushes it away and coughs up a laugh that gets stuck in his chest, lets the sound dissolve in the background.

As silence consumes his office again, a familiar voice—one that he’s only heard in rushed conversations on the phone, late at night, for a while now—says, slightly amused, “Something funny?”

Mike’s neck jerks up, his eyebrows coming together and mouth agape, to find Harvey standing at the door. Mike smiles, shakes his head in disbelief and stands, walks away from his desk with his feet dragging beneath him, exhaustion setting in his shoulders. Harvey leans against the glass, one hand sliding into his pocket while the other tips a Macallan in Mike’s direction.

“Harvey,” Mike breathes out, fighting the urge to laugh, “what are you doing here?”

One corner of Harvey’s mouth curves up and he shrugs, offers, “Thought I would celebrate with a friend.”

“Celebrate what?”

“The fact that I am, without a doubt, the best goddamn closer in this city,” says Harvey, as if it were some kind of explanation. To Mike, somehow, it is. “Suffice it to say, I’ve made Jessica a very happy woman tonight.”

Mike chuckles, waits until Harvey is walking in his direction to take a jab at him, “Tell me that doesn’t mean what it sounds like it means.”

“Mike,” Harvey tells him, slowly, as if talking to a child, “it doesn’t mean what it sounds like it means.” Then, he amends, “Not that I would mind—”

“I know you wouldn’t. _I_ wouldn’t,” Mike interrupts him, patting Harvey’s arm once he’s close enough. 

Harvey eyes him for a moment, the smile on his lips defying his frown, before adding, “She is way out of your league, kid.”

“Do not underestimate the power this has over a person, Harvey,” says Mike, gesturing at the general vicinity of his face.

Harvey lets out a little scoff, walking around Mike to grab a couple of glasses and set them on Mike’s desk. Mike smiles, watches Harvey’s back as Harvey pours them a drink. He loosens his tie when Harvey hands him the glass, an underlying question in Harvey’s eyes as their fingers brush at the exchange.

“I’m fine,” Mike offers, taking a sip.

It crawls down his throat hot and slow, much like Harvey’s stare in response to the blatant lie. Mike sighs, letting his shoulders fall. He rubs at his eyes with a small groan.

“I’m just tired.”

Harvey’s, “Tired of what?” carries more than he lets on, Mike can tell, but he doesn’t know how to answer.

Instead, he settles for a shrug and takes a seat. Harvey follows.

“Everything,” he says after a moment, finishing his drink in one long swallow.

Mike places the glass onto the table before him, letting his hands come together across his lap as he picks up his gaze. Harvey watches him and he watches back, chewing on the inside of his cheek until he faintly tastes blood.

“Mike,” Harvey’s voice breaks the silence, “is this what you want?”

Mike’s brain fails to understand the question, or maybe it refuses to. Mike stares at Harvey, not saying a word, his hands starting to sweat against each other. The answer—the truth—is loud and clear, yet just out of Mike’s reach. He opens his mouth and words escape him.

The answer, when it comes, is not what Mike’s supposed to say, but it’s the only thing he _can_ say, “Yes. Yes, Harvey. This is what I want.”

Harvey lets out a breath and closes his eyes. Mike can see, when they open again, that Harvey’s going to prove him wrong.

Mike won’t stop him.


	5. until it comes again, pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse has struck me again. This is part one of maybe two or three chapters of some Mike/Harvey bonding.
> 
> Not beta'd as usual, so I apologize if anything seems off.
> 
> Enjoy!

The sun is dipping behind the skyline when Mike flops down onto his chair. 

He leans back and places his hands on his desk, the material cold against his palms. It’s not warm in his office, but he can’t fight the way his skin sweats against the glass, leaving an imprint that disappears moments after he catches sight of Amy and draws his hands back.

She leans against the glass door, an unsure gleam dancing in her eyes as she says, “He wants to see you.”

Mike nods and licks his lips, wipes his palms against his pants as he makes his way to Sidwell’s office. There’s a drop in temperature once Mike steps inside; the sweat beading his forehead instantly cools against his skin.

“Mike,” Sidwell says, dropping the folder Mike had Amy deliver to him onto his desk, carelessly. He gives his chair half a spin and picks himself up, one hand inside his pocket as he makes his way to Mike.

Mike tries to swallow and fails. His tie suddenly feels too tight against his neck.

“That was a good deal.” Sidwell points at the folder on his desk. “Not the best, but good.”

Mike acknowledges that information with a nod, sliding his hands inside his pockets. Sidwell nods back and watches Mike with narrowed eyes, as if waiting for a cue Mike’s not willing to give.

The silence stretches a moment longer and, when Sidwell seems to realize that Mike won’t be the one to break it, he does it himself, “I expect much more from you, Mike.”

There it is—the blow Mike’s been waiting for the entire afternoon. It’s not as bad as he imagined; it feels more like a metaphorical shove to the shoulder than anything else, but Mike still has no appropriate answer to that.

Seeming to spot Mike’s nervousness, Sidwell gives him a light pat on the arm and forces out a smile.

“Tell you what,” he says, scratching his cheek with a finger. “Take the day off tomorrow.”

Mike tries not to interpret that as _you suck, therefore I’m giving you time so you can suck less_ and smiles instead, says, “Thank you.”

Sidwell gives him a nod toward the door and Mike takes the chance to leave without looking back. He almost doesn’t bother walking back to his office to avoid receiving the pity stare from Amy, but he does, even if only to grab his briefcase and head straight home.

***

Rachel isn’t there when he goes to sleep and she isn’t there when he wakes up, but he faintly remembers her lips against his neck somewhere in the middle of the night.

There’s a note sitting on her pillow—it wishes him a good morning and a good day at work. He doesn’t like the notes, not anymore. She thinks it’s sweet but, to him, they’ve turned into a reminder that they don’t have time to talk to each other.

A quick look at the clock tells him Rachel has probably not eaten anything yet. Determined to change that and the fact that they’re in a semi-desensitized relationship, Mike freshens up as quickly as he can and grabs his bike.

He drops by the bagel stand he and Harvey used to eat at and leaves the guy a big tip to ensure that the bagel he gets for Rachel has more cream cheese than the average person’s.

He passes by Jessica’s office balancing two coffees in one hand and two bagels in the other, and uses it as an excuse to flee to Rachel’s office when Jessica fires him a look.She doesn’t seem thrilled to see him there and Mike can’t exactly claim that Pearson-Specter is his happiest memory either, so he declares it a draw in his head and moves along.

Rachel’s face lightens up when she glances up from the paperwork on her desk to catch him leaning at her door. Mike raises his eyebrows and smiles.

“Hey, you,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I got the day off. Thought I’d feed my overworked girlfriend,” Mike says as he strolls over to give her a kiss. 

“Thank God,” she clasps her hands together, chuckling. “I’m starving.”

He offers her the bagel and coffee and she takes it, going straight for the bagel. Mike starts making himself comfortable on the chair opposite her desk when he notices her holding up the coffee and frowning at the cup.

“What?” Mike says, biting into his bagel. Rachel chuckles and holds up the cup in front of him until he realizes he messed up her order. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he tells her. “I was going to see Harvey after and—”

“It’s okay. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,” she says as she slides the coffee over to his side. “I have a lot to do anyway.”

He knows this is her way of gently dismissing him, so he grabs the cup and leans over to give her another kiss.

“You realize this is my place of work, right?” she asks him when he doesn’t let go after a moment.

“I know,” he says, giving her another peck and smiling. “I don’t care.”

Rachel laughs against his mouth, says, “You’re going to get me fired,” as she gives him a light slap on the arm. “Go.”

Mike chuckles and gives her one last kiss before making his way to Donna’s desk. She barely raises her eyes from her screen as he approaches it, but he knows she’s seen him by the way her lips curve upwards.

“Took you long enough,” she tells him, eyeing the contents in his hands closely. Mike doesn’t bother asking how she knew he was coming. “Any of that for me?”

Before Mike can lie, she makes a _tsk_ sound with her mouth and shakes her head. 

“That’s Harvey’s alright.”

Mike opens his mouth to explain, but Harvey’s questioning tone sounds behind him before he can, “Mike, what are you doing here?”

“He got the day off.”

Mike closes his mouth and nods, gesturing at Donna. “What she said.”

Harvey gives them a suspicious look and Mike clears his throat, offering Harvey the coffee, “This is for you.”

Harvey eyes it for a moment before taking his hand out of his pocket to grab it. He reads the label and nods approvingly, taking a sip as he steals the bagel from Mike’s other hand. 

He goes straight for it, without looking, and Mike coughs to cover up a laugh before glancing at Donna and adding, “That was actually mine. I’d already bitten into it.”

Harvey chews around the piece already in his mouth for a moment, staring at the remnants of the bagel as an entire horror movie flashes in his eyes. There’s an audible gulp when he swallows it and Mike tries not to laugh, but fails.

Harvey glowers at him. “Donna—”

“I already moved all of your meetings to Thursday afternoon,” she says and turns to Mike to mouth _you’re welcome_.

“Good,” Harvey announces. He throws the bagel into the trash and places the cup of coffee on Donna’s desk. Then, he turns to Mike. “I’m going to go grab some real breakfast. One that hasn’t already been eaten,” he delivers in his best lawyer voice.

After a beat, he adds, “You’re welcome to join.”

He doesn’t wait for Mike to come up with answer before he starts walking away. Mike glances at Donna for reassurance and she just gives him a _shoo_ motion without bothering to look up from her computer screen.

As Mike jogs to catch up with Harvey, he hears her shout after them, “I’m not drinking this god-awful coffee!”


	6. until it comes again, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, guys. I'm sorry! 
> 
> I've been totally and completely wrapped up in another ship and Marvey kind of took a backseat. I have been watching Suits, however, and the plot bunnies might have started workin' again.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's still around. Better late than never, right? 
> 
> **This picks up right after the last chapter.** Enjoy! :-)

Mike has already started to feel amazingly underdressed in his t-shirt and jeans when he notices the smirk on Harvey’s lips. He narrows his eyes, chews down onto his cheek before saying, “You brought me here on purpose, didn’t you?”

Harvey shrugs, shakes his head as he stares down at the menu. Mike continues to glare at him until he peeks at Mike over the menu, barely containing a smile. 

“And why would I do that?” says Harvey, raising his hand to a faraway waiter.

Mike brings his arms together across his chest and leans back against the chair. Harvey doesn’t say a word, only raises his eyebrows, which serves to unsettle Mike further.

Finally, Mike says, just as the waiter arrives, “I’m not picking up this check.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Harvey replies, and then proceeds to order for them both. 

After the waiter’s gone, Mike wiggles in his seat, his arms still folded, and says, “I’m also never letting you take me out for breakfast again.”

“Try saying that _after_ you’ve tasted the food.”

“I’m not changing my mind, Harvey.”

Harvey rolls his eyes, grabbing a napkin to drape it over his lap. “Mike,” he says, slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, “I did bring you here on purpose. You wanna know why? Because I thought you’d appreciate the goddamned food.”

Mike scans the area around them—the clientele are middle-aged executives in fancy suits talking about either a) banging their secretaries or b) screwing people out of their money. Harvey couldn’t have possibly thought Mike would fit in, awesome food or not, and Mike voices as much.

“Mike,” Harvey says his name for the second time in five minutes, sounding like he’s already tired of it. Mike tries not to be offended by the tone. “I don’t care how you’re dressed and neither should you. Hell, you could’ve been wearing a pink tutu and I’d still take you out.”

Mike narrows his eyes at him. “Really? A pink tutu?”

He’s almost sure Harvey is not going to honor that with answer when Harvey mutters, almost to himself, “No, not really.”

“Aha!” Mike jumps, pointing an accusing finger at Harvey. “I knew it.” 

“ _Mike_.”

Mike promptly shuts up after that and an easy silence fills the air between them. Harvey leans back against chair, his shoulders sagging slightly as he twists his neck to stare out the window, and Mike watches him. After a moment, Harvey shifts under Mike’s gaze and Mike clears his throat.

“Here you go, sir,” the waiter says, breaking the moment, and places their respective plates and glasses on the table. “Have a nice meal.”

Harvey nods his thanks and the waiter marches away without another word, leaving Mike and Harvey to it. Mike studies the girly beverage in front of him and glances at Harvey with a frown.

“Are you sure this isn’t something you order for Donna?”

“I don’t have breakfast with Donna,” Harvey offers as an answer, and Mike can’t decide if it’s an actual answer to the question or not.

Mike stares at it some more before figuring what the hell. 

He doesn’t know if it’s the subtle sweetness from the nutmeg, the bitterness from the coffee, or the frothiness from the milk that does it for him, but it’s like fireworks in his mouth.

He doesn’t realize he’s closed his eyes until he opens them to find Harvey knowingly smirking at him. He lifts a finger in Harvey’s direction and proceeds to take another sip, just to make sure, and releases a moan when he realizes that yes, that is the most delicious thing he’s ever put in his mouth.

“It’s like sex,” Mike says, “but on my tongue. Oh my _God_ , Harvey. You have no idea how awesome this is.”

“I think you just gave everyone in this place a pretty good idea,” Harvey says, smirking around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. 

Mike tries to fight the heat that creeps up his neck, to no avail. In response, the corners of Harvey’s eyes crinkle as his smirk turns into a smile, and Mike decides that he likes the sight almost better than he likes this heavenly nectar from the Gods.

The rest of the meal is uneventful, except after every bite and/or sip Mike files a mental note to persuade Harvey to bring him to this place more often. He doesn’t tell Harvey, of course, but he has a feeling that Harvey already knows that because, when they finish eating and walk out onto the sidewalk side by side, arms brushing together, Harvey stops, turns to him with a knowing look in his eyes.

“What?” Mike asks, raising his eyebrows.

“You loved it. Say it.”

That smug bastard.

“No, I didn’t,” fires Mike, just as he starts walking.

He only realizes Harvey isn’t following when Harvey calls after him, asks, “Mike, where do you think you’re going?”

Mike frowns, gestures with a finger over his shoulder. “Back to the office?”

Harvey makes a sound in his chest, almost like a scoff, and shakes his head. “Donna didn’t move all of my meetings for us to go back to the office.”

“Wait,” Mike says, holds up a hand as he makes his way back to Harvey. “She was actually serious?”

They fall into stride together, close enough that Harvey’s hand brushes against Mike’s every once in a while, and Harvey announces, smiling, “Donna’s always serious.”


End file.
